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PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


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PRESENTED  BY 

THE  PRESBYTERIAN  BOARD  OF  PUBLICATION 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/storiesaboutafriOOmoff 


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Mr.  Moffat  preaching  from  a wagon  in  Africa. 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA, 


A 


FAR-EWELL  ADDRESS 


SUNDAY  SCHOLARS. 

BY 

REV.  ROBERT  MOFFAT. 


^fjtlahrlp^ta: 

Presbyterian  Board  of  Publication, 

No.  821  Chestnut  Street. 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


My  Dear  Friends, — I rise  on  the 
present  occasion  with  feelings  of  a pe- 
culiar description  : for  this,  I think  1 
may  say,  is  the  last  juvenile  audience 
that  I shall  be  able  to  address  in  my 
native  land.  You  all  know  that  the 
time  of  my  departure  is  drawing  near, 
when  I shall  again  leave  the  land  of  my 
forefathers — the  land  that  gave  me 
birth.  I must  soon  go  far  hence  among 
the  sable  sons  and  daughters  of  Africa, 
there  to  live,  and  there  to  spend  and  be 
spent.  I hope  there  to  live  and  labour 
for  many  years.  I have  no  other  pros- 
pect but  that  of  finishing  my  course 

(3) 


4 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


there,  and  leaving  my  bones  there  to 
mingle  with  those  of  Afric’s  children. 

Dear  children,  I am  going  to  speak 
about  missions;  I am  going  to  speak 
about  boys  and  girls;  I am  going  to 
speak  about  Africa,  and  I know  that  what 
I am  going  to  tell  you,  you  will  not  be 
able  to  forget.  Even  were  you  desirous 
to  forget  it,  you  will  recollect  that  you 
once  heard  me  speak ; you  will  recollect 
the  subject  I took  and  the  stories  I told, 
and  wherever  you  wander  in  the  city, 
or  wherever  you  travel  abroad,  you  will 
not  forget  hearing  from  the  lips  of  a 
man  that  lived  twenty-three  years  among 
the  black  children  of  Africa,  and  was  a 
teacher  there,  a missionary  there,  what 
he  came  back  and  told  you  that  he  had 
seen  and  had  heard  there. 

I speak  from  experience,  for  I remem- 
ber well  what  I heard  when  I was  a boy. 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


5 


I too,  like  some  of  you,  was  once  a Sun- 
day scholar,  and  I have  been  a Sunday- 
school  teacher.  I remember  well  what 
I heard  when  I was  a little  boy ; though 
I heard  as  if  I heard  not,  and  though 
it  appeared  to  make  no  impression,  lines 
were  made  upon  my  memory — the  tab- 
let of  my  memory.  This  treasure,  these 
sweet  words,  these  useful  words,  these 
affectionate  words,  and  especially  those 
of  a pious  mother,  were  deposited  in  a 
little  cabinet — the  cabinet  of  memory; 
and  though  I did  not  see  them  at  all 
times,  and  did  not  hear  them  speak  out 
of  my  bosom  at  all  times,  still  I never 
forgot  them  in  all  my  wanderings  in 
Africa.  I have  wandered  many  hun- 
dreds, many  thousands  of  miles  in 
Africa ; wandered  far  from  the  abodes 
of  men,  where  there  was  nothing  to  be 
heard  but  the  music  of  the  desert,  the 


6 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


lion’s  roar,  the  hyena’s  howl,  and  where 
there  was  the  dread  of  meeting  some 
ruthless  savage  from  day  to  day. 

Travelling  in  that  way  I never,  no 
never,  forgot  what  I heard  when  I was 
a little  boy,  and  therefore  what  I am 
going  to  say  to  you,  I am  going  to  write 
upon  your  memories. 

The  blessing  of  God  has  already 
been  implored,  and  I shall  implore  the 
blessing  of  God  again ; and  I have  a 
full  persuasion,  that  though  you  may 
see  me  no  more,  yet  you  will  remember, 
and  I hope  you  will  pray  for  me  also. 
When  you  read  of  my  journeys  in  Afri- 
ca, and  what  the  gospel  is  doing  there, 
and  when  I describe  the  people  whom 
I saw  there,  you  will  feel  an  interest — 
you  will  feel  your  hearts  glow  within 
you — you  will  feel  your  hearts  kind  to 
every  African.  Oh,  I love  Africa;  I 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


7 


love  every  one  that  loves  Africa.  You 
know  how  natural  it  is  for  a person  to 
love  his  own ; how  natural  it  is  for  a 
man  to  think  that  his  own  wife  and 
his  own  children  are  the  best  in  the 
world.  Quite  right.  Now,  Africa  is 
my  country,  and  I look  upon  her  chil- 
dren as  my  children,  and  my  tears  min- 
gle with  the  tears  of  her  weeping  mil- 
lions. I have  given  myself  to  Africa, 
and  therefore  I seem  to  feel  love  to  all 
that  love  Africa.  I love  the  missionary 
who  loves  India,  and  he  ought  to  love 
India.  I love  the  missionary  who 
loves  the  negroes  of  the  West  Indies, 
and  he  ought  to  love  them ; and  wher- 
ever a missionary  is,  he  ought  to  look 
at  the  people  as  his  people — the  people 
that  God  has  given  him,  and  to  whom 
God  has  sent  him,  like  dear  Williams 
of  the  South  Seas,  whom  you  all  know, 


8 STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

and  whose  memory  you  cherish.  He 
loved  the  very  people  who  killed  him. 
This  was  like  the  Saviour. 

Now  it  just  occurred  to  my  mind 
when  you  were  singing,  and  oh ! it  was 
delightful,  though  there  was  a little  jar- 
ring here  and  there  in  the  ears  of  the 
kind  leader ; that  was  however  nothing ; 
it  was  lost  in  the  grandeur  and  sweet- 
ness of  tones  that  rolled  delightfully 
with  a cadence  as  if  from  angels’  harps ; 
it  occurred  to  my  mind  how  many  Sun- 
day scholars  were  met  at  the  present 
time  throughout  the  world.  There  was 
a time  when  Raikes,  single  handed,  un- 
dertook to  teach  children  on  the  Sabbath 
day.  What  a wonderful  movement 
that  was!  What  would  Raikes  now 
say  ? When  I walked  through  the 
town  of  Gloucester,  I could  almost  per- 
suade myself  I saw  him.  Now,  now 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


9 


in  the  days  in  which  we  live, — Oh 
what  happy  days ! — the  sun  never  sets 
on  Sunday-schools — never  sets,  in  all 
its  course  round  the  globe,  on  Sunday- 
schools;  or,  if  he  is  about  to  set  on  one 
school,  he  is  rising  on  another ; if  he 
is  setting  on  one  missionary  station,  he 
is  shining  in  meridian  splendor  upon 
another,  so  that  it  may  be  said  that  the 
praises  of  children,  the  anthems  of  chil- 
dren, are  continuing  to  ascend  while 
the  sun  goes  round  and  round  the 
world.  Songs  of  praise  are  sung  from 
the  rising  of  the  sun  to  the  going  down 
thereof,  even  by  children.  0 happy 
days  ! 0 happy  prospect ! Instead 

of  the  fathers  shall  rise  up  the  children. 

Now  this  is  a most  animating  view 
of  the  subject,  and  I cannot  think  that 
there  is  music  more  delightful,  music 
more  harmonious,  music  more  heavenly 


10  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

and  sweet  in  the  ears  of  the  Redeemer 
of  the  world,  than  the  music  of  infant 
tongues.  Ah,  said  the  Saviour,  when 
he  was  going  up  to  Jerusalem,  and 
heard  infant  hosannas,  and  smiled  as 
he  heard — “ If  these  should  hold  their 
peace,  the  very  stones  would  cry  out.” 
Is  not  this  delightful  ? Look  only  at 
the  Saviour — the  blessed  Jesus — for 
whom  all  things  were  made,  and  by 
whom  all  things  exist,  and  you  and  1, 
and  all  of  us.  Look  at  the  Saviour — 
the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus — healing 
the  sick,  cleansing  the  lepers, raising  the 
dead,  and  giving  eyes  to  the  blind; 
try  and  look  on  him,  my  dear  children, 
on  whom  angels  loved  to  look.  These 
needy  creatures,  as  we  are,  were  all 
objects  of  his  sympathy — they  all  re- 
quired his  help ; but  we  see  the  Saviour 
taking  in  his  arms  children  that  needed 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


11 


no  such  helps  from  him ; they  did  not 
know  their  Redeemer — they  were  hap- 
py and  cheerful,  hanging,  with  an  in- 
fant-heavenly smile,  on  their  mothers’ 
bosoms ; taking  these  children  in  his 
arms  and  blessing  them,  and  saying — 
“ Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 
This  sweet  expression,  my  dear  chil- 
dren, refers  to  you. 

Now  one  delightful  characteristic 
(I  will  talk  to  the  children  by-and-by) 
of  the  present  time  is  that  mighty 
movement  which  the  infant  mind  is  ex- 
periencing. Their  operations  are  very 
small  and  their  efforts  very  small ; 
but  think  of  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  whose  minds  are  being  direc- 
ted, not  only  to  the  Bible,  but  to  where 
the  Bible  itself  directs  them,  and  that 
is  the  heathen  world, — to  pray  for  the 
poor  perishing  heathen,  so  that  we 


12 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


may  expect  that  in  the  coming  genera- 
tion there  will  be  a host  of  mighty  mis- 
sionary minds,  which  will  throw  us  of 
the  present  day  into  the  shade,  when 
our  heads  are  laid  beneath  the  clods  of 
the  vale.  That  day  is  coming,  in 
which  you  shall  live  when  we  are  dead. 

Compare  the  present  time  with  the 
past.  I remember  once  being  brought 
to  a place  where  there  was  some  ivy  and 
other  creepers  trained  around  the  walls 
of  a school-room  (it  was  in  a national 
school  in  Newcastle-upon-Tyne),  some 
tending  obliquely,  some  horizontally, 
some  perpendicularly,  and  some  with 
their  ends  downwards.  It  brought  to 
my  mind  those  beautiful  lines  of  the 
poet — 

“ Tis  education  forms  the  tender  mind, 

Just  as  the  twig  is  bent;  the  tree’s  inclined.” 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


13 


In  my  youthful  years  I had  trained 
many  trees,  and  I was  very  much  im- 
pressed with  these  words  of  the  poet; 
and  I remembered  at  the  time  that  I 
once  saw  a heathen  man,  a father,  a 
venerable  looking  man,  who  went  up 
one  day.  to  his  son  in  a rage  with  a • 
club  to  knock  him  down.  The  son 
looked  at  him  with  the  greatest  indif- 
ference, and  said, — ‘‘Father,  take  your 
spear,  take  your  spear.”  The  father 
looked  at  him  again,  and  then  he  said 
to  his  father,  pointing  to  a large  stately 
acacia  giraffe  tree,  a very  strong  tree 
like  an  old  oak  tree — “Go  and  bend 
that  tree.”  “ Am  I a fool  ?”  asked  the 
father.  “ Yes,”  replied  the  son,  “ you 
have  been  a fool  hitherto  : for  you 
ought  to  have  begun  with  me  when  I 
was  a boy.  Now  I am  a man,  and  it 

is  at  your  peril  to  touch  me.  I will 
2 


14 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


pierce  your  heart  with  a spear  if  you 
lift  your  hand  against  me.”  Oh,  I 
thought  at  the  moment,  how  many, 
many  hundreds  and  thousands  of  pa- 
rents have  to  weep  tears,  I would  say 
almost  of  blood — burning  tears  of  re- 
* gret,  that  they  did  not  begin  to  train 
their  children  while  they  were  child- 
ren ! — 

“ Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree’s  inclined.” 

Therefore  I,  for  my  part,  think  very, 
very  highly  of  the  labours  of  Sunday- 
school  teachers.  They  have  in  their 
power  the  transformation  of  character, 
and  from  their  labours  results  the  most 
stupendous  are  certain  to  take  place. 
Just  look  at  the  mother  who  nurses 
the  babe  on  her  bosom.  That  mother 
bears  on  her  bosom  a power  which  may 
one  day  sway  empires  and  govern 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


15 


crowns.  Children  that  are  thus  nursed 
receive  their  first  impressions — im- 
pressions never  afterwards  erased — 
from  the  mother  that  nurtures  them  and 
speaks  to  them.  How  sweet  a mother’s 
voice ! It  reigns  in  life,  it  speaks  in 
death.  On  the  same  principle  Sunday- 
school  teachers  have  a responsible 
charge;  standing,  as  they  often  do,  in 
the  room  of  parents,  they  have  the  care 
of  immortal  souls  committed  to  them. 
And,  Oh,  how  many  there  are  that  lift 
the  voice  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  to 
God  every  morning  and  evening  at  this 
day,  at  this  time,  because  they  have 
been  placed  in  a Sunday-school ! Think 
also  how  many  distinguished  charac- 
ters there  have  been  and  now  are  en- 
gaged in  the  kingdom  of  the  Lord,  who 
were  once  children  in  a Sunday-school; 
and  may  we  not  expect  at  the  present 


16 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


time,  from  the  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands who  are  not  now  reading  “Jack 
the  Giant  Killer,”  as  I used  to  do  when 
1 was-  a boy — not  reading  “ Beauty 
and  the  Beast” — not  reading  “The 
Forty  Thieves,”  and  “ Sinbad  the  Sai- 
lor,” and  such  trash  as  this ; but  read- 
ing lovely  little  stories,  on  which  they 
gaze  like  men  on  a bright  shining  gem, 
till  they  feel  their  very  minds  shining 
and  animated  with  Christian  zeal,  till 
they  really  feel  an  interest  in  every 
thing  that  has  reference  to  missionary 
work — and  you  know  that  work  was 
the  Saviour’s  work. 

I was  astonished  at  a sight  which  I 
remember  seeing  in  Edinburgh.  All  the 
children  assembled  to  hear  an  ad- 
dress— what  do  you  think  of  3,000, 
and  more  than  3,000  children  listening 
to  a missionary? — each  received  a sweet 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


17 


little  missionary  book.  After  the  peo- 
ple had  gone  out,  after  the  congrega- 
tion of  children  had  been  dismissed,  it 
was  hard  work  to  get  along  the  streets  • 
every  shop  window,  no  matter  what  the 
shop  contained,  eggs,  butter,  candles, 
or  coals,  where  there  was  a light,  was 
crowded  with  the  little  things  read- 
ing the  books  they  had  received — I 
know  not  how  many.  They  had  a lit- 
tle story  to  read  about  my  taking  a 
baby  out  of  the  ground,  and  other  little 
stories.  These  books  must  have  made 
an  impression  on  their  minds  that  never, 
never  can  be  erased.  Oh,  the  glorious 
results  of  the  labours  of  Sunday-school 
teachers  are  beyond  all  calculation! 
Next  day  I met  several  of  these  chil- 
dren, who  told  me,  with  animated  coun- 
tenances, what  they  had  read. 

I remember  meeting  with  an  individ- 


18  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

ual  in  a hospital  at  Cape  Town.  He 
was  a young  man,  who  had  fallen  from 
the  mast  head  and  broken  his  leg,  and 
was  conveyed  there.  When  I went 
and  conversed  with  him  about  his  soul, 
he  returned  answers  that  were  like  fiery 
darts.  He  cursed  me,  and  told  me  “ to 
go  about  my  business,  he  was  not  go- 
ing to  have  any  of  my  methodist  hum- 
bug, he  knew  better,”  and  so  on.  I 
called  on  him  again  on  another  Sabbath. 
I spoke,  and  spoke,  and  spoke,  and  by- 
and-by  I dropped  an  expression,  a sin- 
gle expression,  that  touched  some  ten- 
der chord  in  his  heart — it  vibrated  in 
his  soul.  He  paused,  he  was  silent,  he 
gazed  on  me,  and  the  tears  ran  from 
his  eyes.  I asked  him  the  cause,  he 
replied — “ What  is  a man  pi'ofited  if  he 
gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own 
soul  ? ” the  soul,  the  never  dying  soul. 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


19 


What  a thought ! “ Those  were  the 
words  I heard  from  my  Sunday-school 
teacher.”  That  man  kissed  my  hand, 
and  adored  and  praised  God  for  giving 
me  grace  to  persevere,  notwithstanding 
all  his  opprobrious  language  on  a pre- 
ceding day. 

But  I am  going  to  talk  about  Africa. 
I see  you  are  all  looking  for  something 
respecting  Africa.  I want  to  tell  you 
what  Sunday-schools  are  doing  there — 
I want  to  tell  you  what  missionaries 
are  doing  there  ; the  benefits  not  only 
that  mothers  receive  from  the  mission- 
ary enterprise,  but  the  blessings  and 
comforts  that  every  group  of  society 
receives,  and  especially  children.  We 
have  heard — 

11  Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree’s  inclined.” 


They  are  the  tender  twigs  bent  in 


20  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

Africa.  We  see,  in  walking  about  plan- 
tations in  gentlemen’s  parks,  or  in  gar- 
dens, or  anywhere  else,  that  great  care 
is  taken  of  the  little  trees  : we  see  that 
they  are  fenced  about.  But  after  they 
have  grown  and  become  great  trees, 
they  are  left  to  themselves,  and  are  ex- 
posed to  the  winter’s  storm.  We  see 
young  plants  guarded  from  cattle  and 
from  the  feet  of  the  stranger ; and  we 
see — I know  the  fact,  for  I have  been 
engaged  in  these  things  myself — we 
see  the  gardener  or  the  nurseryman,  or 
the  individual  that  takes  care  of  them, 
prune  them  nicely,  and  keep  them  in 
order  while  young;  and  then,  when 
they  are  grown  up,  they  look  so  fine, 
when  they  are  stately,  fruitful  trees. 

Now,  how  are  young  twigs  nurtured 
in  Africa  ? I shall  tell  you.  Very 
differently  from  what  they  are  in  this 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


21 


land.  There,  you  must  know,  there 
were  no  Sabbaths.  I am  speaking  of 
Africa  as  we  found  it,  and  such  as  it  is 
at  the  present  day  thousands  of  miles 
in  the  interior.  There  was  no  Sabbath 
there — no,  not  one.  They  had  one  long 
week.  It  began  when  they  were  born, 
and  it  was  Saturday  night  when  they 
were  dead.  They  had  no  fast  days,  no 
feast  days,  or  perhaps  they  had  one  feast 
in  a year — a feast  of  dancing  and  sing- 
ing. Hunger  and  a hunt  mark  their 
lives.  Seldom  full,  generally  found 
fasting,  leading  the  life  of  a dog,  by 
turns  of  hunger  and  of  ease. 

In  that  country  infant  minds  are 
trained  to  every  thing  that  has  reference 
to  war — the  use  of  the  spear,  and  the 
use  of  the  bow.  It  is  a wild  country  ; 
they  have  no  Gospel  there,  no  peace 
there;  one  tribe  at  everlasting. war  with 


22 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


another  tribe,  always  seeking  to  take 
revenge.  Among  the  Africans,  even 
the  very  infants  on  their  mothers’  lap 
are  taught  to  thirst  far  the  blood  of 
revenge.  I remember  a little  boy  with 
whom  I met.  He  was  walking  along 
with  his  father,  and  his  father  had  on 
his  shoulder  his  quiver,  containing  poi- 
soned arrows,  and  his  bow,  and  he  had 
in  his  hand  a couple  of  spears  ; the  boy 
had  his  weapons  also,  and  a few  men 
were  following  after.  I happened  just 
to  meet  them.  I was  going  in  one  di- 
rection, and  they  were  passing  in  an- 
other. They  waited  till  I came  up,  and 
I asked  where  they  were  going.  They 
would  not  tell  me.  I asked  again,  and 
the  silly  answers  they  gave  led  me  to 
suspect  that  all  was  not  right.  The 
father  was  a heathen,  and  I supposed 
that  he  was  going  to  attack  some  one 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


23 


and  kill  him,  or  that  he  was  going  to 
steal  some  one’s  sheep  or  oxen.  I said 
again,  “ Tell  me  where  you  are  going — 
perhaps  I shall  go  with  you.  Is  there 
any  game?”  “No,  there  is  no  game.” 
I was  seeking  game,  and  had  my  gun 
with  me.  The  boy,  who  had  formerly 
been  at  the  school,  looked  at  me  with 
his  eyes  so  large,  and,  putting  my  hand 
on  his  head,  I asked  where  they  were 
going.  The  boy  replied,  “ Don’t  look 
at  me  with  those  eyes.”  “What  must 
I look  at  you  with?  What  is  the  mat- 
ter?” “Don’t  look  at  me  with  those 
eyes.”  The  boy  had  been  instructed  to 
read  in  the  school,  and  I had  supposed 
that  he  was  in  school  that  very  day — 
a school  under  the  superintendence  of 
one  of  the  African  teachers — and  I was 
surprised  to  see  him.  It  was  a week- 
day : I had  been  preaching,  and  was 


24  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

returning  home  when  I met  him.  He 
said  again,  “Don’t  look  at  me  with 
those  eyes,”  and  I began  to  suspect 
that  something  must  be  wrong. 

The  father  stood  like  a wild  buffalo 
looking  at  me,  and  I asked  him  again 
what  was  the  matter.  I looked  at  the 
boy  again,  put  my  arm  round  his  neck, 
and  talked  to  him  affectionately.  The 
boy  was  evidently  in  great  terror,  and 
at  last  I insisted,  or  rather  begged  the 
old  man,  the  father,  to  tell  me  what 
he  had  done.  By  this  time  the  other 
men  came  up  and  joined  the  party,  and 
they  also  accosted  me.  I asked  them 
what  was  the  matter,  adding,  that  1 
would  go  with  them,  for  I was  sure 
that  things  were  not  right.  What  do 
you  think  they  were  all  going  to  do  ? 
I shall  tell  you.  It  was  to  take  that 
boy  to  a family,  in  order  that  he  might 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


25 


plunge  a spear  into  some  of  them.  He 
had  been  taught  by  his  mother  when 
an  infant,  that  when  he  had  come  to  a 
certain  age  he  should  take  a spear,  a 
quiver,  and  an  arrow,  and  go  with  his 
father  to  take  revenge,  to  shed  the 
blood  of  some  individual  that  had  done 
harm  to  his  grandfather,  or  some  one 
else,  for  I forget,  it  is  so  long  since. 
Oh,  the  disappointment  was  great — the 
mortification  of  the  man  was  inexpressi- 
ble. He  looked  at  me  in  great  rage, 
but  he  was  afraid  to  say  anything,  for 
I was  a stouter  man  than  he  was;  and 
besides,  I had  a gun,  and  he  might  have 
thought  I should  shoot  him,  though  I 
would  have  done  no  such  thing.  I had 
no  idea,  however,  that  he  would  do  me 
harm;  but  he  was  dreadfully  disappoin- 
ted, inasmuch  as  he  knew  that  his  boy 
would  not  dare  to  go  and  commit  mur- 

3 


26  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

der,  because  be  had  seen  the  eyes  of 
that  man  who  had  taught  him  to  read 
and  to  sing. 

I remember  an  old  man,  a hoary 
headed  man,  who,  after  hearing  me 
preach  about  the  love  of  God,  about 
the  mercy  of  God,  and  how  we  ought 
to  show  mercy  to  each  other,  said, 
that  was  a bad  instruction — ours  was 
a bad  religion.  He  asked,  “ How  are 
we  to  live  if  we  are  not  to  take  re- 
venge ? If  we  are  not  to  kill  others, 
others  will  kill  us.”  He  held  out  his 
fingers  and  counted  ten,  to  show  me 
how  many  he  had  killed  since  he  was 
ten  years  of  age.  That  is  a heathen 
declaration.  Can  you  believe  this,  my 
children  ? 

Contrast  that,  my  children,  contrast 
that,  my  older  friends,  with  the  instruc- 
tions imparted  to  the  young  in  our  own 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


27 


country,  in  the  present  day.  What  is 
the  result  of  the  one?  The  result  of 
the  one  is  misery  and  woe,  destruction, 
death,  and  everlasting  pain.  What  is 
the  result  of  the  other  ? The  result  of 
the  other  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  love — 
exalting  that  Redeemer  who  has  con- 
ferred upon  us  such  inestimable  privi- 
leges. This,  my  dear  children,  for  1 
now  speak  to  you,  will  remind  you  of 
the  lovely  lines, — 

“ ’Tis  religion  that  can  give 
Sweetest  pleasures  while  we  live. 

* ’Tis  religion  must  supply 

Solid  comforts  when  we  die.” 

But  Africa,  again,  is  a wild  country. 
The  people  there  learn  not  only  to  use 
weapons  and  to  fight  with  each  other, 
and  kill  each  other,  but  also  to  defend 
themselves  against  beasts  of  prey.  I 
will  not  trouble  you  with  any  lion 


28 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


stories,  except  one.  I will  tell  you 
one,  and  it  will  show  my  young 
friends,  the  bo}rs — I will  talk  to  the 
girls  by-and-bye — the  dangers  that  little 
boys  are  exposed  to  in  that  land,  and 
little  girls  too.  I have  known  little  girls 
who,  when  I inquired  after  them 
another  time,  I found  had  been  devoured 
by  a lion.  There  was  a little  boy  with 
whom  I met,  and  he  seemed  to  look 
curiously  at  me ; he  seemed  to  eye  me 
from  head  to  foot;  he  seemed  to  think 
that  I was  of  pretty  good  length,  and 
pretty  good  strength,  rather  gigantic 
compared  with  the  people  among  whom 
he  lived.  He  looked  at  me  and  I 
looked  at  him.  I asked  him  what  was 
the  most  wonderful  thing  he  ever  saw. 
His  wondering  eyes  made  me  ask  this 
question.  He  answered,  “You  are  the 
most  wonderful  thing.”  I asked  what 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


29 


was  so  wonderful  about  me.  “ Oh,”  he 
said,  “your  hands  are  another  colour, 
your  face  is  another  colour.”  He  could 
not  think  why  I put  my  legs  into  sacks, 
for  so  he  called  my  trowsers.  He  did 
mot  know  whether  I was  the  same  co- 
lour under  my  clothes  that  my  hands 
were.  About  my  body  he  thought  I 
was  something  like  their  own  people. 
Among  other  questions,  I think  he 
asked  me  if  my  blood  was  red  the  same 
as  theirs.  I seemed  to  him  rather  an 
odd  animal,  and  therefore  he  thought 
I was  the  most  curious  thing  he  ever 
saw.  I asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen 
anything  else  very  remarkable.  Well, 
I have  frequently  asked  such  questions 
just  to  see  how  they  thought : he 
rubbed  his  little  head  as  we  sometimes 
do  to  get  out  ideas,  and  he  thought  he 
remembered  a very  wonderful  thing. 

3* 


30 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


I knew  that  he  had  travelled  a good 
deal  though  yet  a boy,  and  had  been 
at  a great  distance  in  the  interior  of 
Africa.  He  was  a stranger  in  the  part 
of  the  country  where  I saw  him.  He 
said,  “ I remember  a wonderful  thing,” 
and  he  told  me  the  story. 

He  was  about  six  or  seven  years  of 
age,  and  he  had  been  travelling  with 
his  father  and  mother,  and  two  other 
of  the  children.  They  came  to  a few 
old  huts  one  night,  and  they  went  into 
one  of  them.  They  were  not  high 
enough  to  let  a person,  even  a tall  boy, 
stand  erect;  they  were  covered  over 
with  mats  and  grass,  and  there  was  a 
little  hole  for  the  door,  like  an  oven 
door,  and  they  crept  in  and  out.  I 
have  gone  hundreds  of  times  into  such 
huts  in  the  same  way.  Generally 
when  they  pass  the  evening  they  lie 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


31 


down  in  a hole  in  the  ground  and  cover 
themselves  over  with  grass — I am 
speaking  of  very  poor  people.  There 
lay  the  father,  the  mother,  and  the 
children,  and  within  the  door  there  was 
a fire  of  wood.  The  boy  had  no  clo- 
thing, nothing  but  a little  sheep  skin. 
There  they  lay  all  of  a heap,  but  he, 
the  little  boy,  having  slept  some  hours, 
was  becoming  cold;  he  got  up,  and  was 
holding  his  hand  over  the  smouldering 
ashes  which  were  nearly  dead;  but 
there  was  a piece  of  wood  in  the  fire, 
red  hot,  under  the  ashes.  He  was  hold- 
ing his  arms  over  this  with  his  eyes 
hardly  opened,  and  he  heard  something 
at  the  door  of  the  hut.  He  thought  it 
was  somebody  who  wanted  to  get  in ; 
he  heard  the  noise  of  breathing,  and 
thought  the  man  had  been  running  hard 
and  was  drawing  a long  breath.  He 


32 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


said,  “ You  can  come  in  if  you  like,” 
and  again  he  heard  the  breathing  just 
close  to  the  door.  He  said,  “Why 
cannot  you  come  in?”  He  took  out  the 
stick  of  fire  that  was  red  hot,  and  in 
sympathy  to  the  stranger  pushed  it  out 
to  let  the  poor  man  see  the  way  in;  and 
where  do  you  think  he  pushed  the  red 
hot  fire?  Into  a lion’s  mouth  ! The 
lion  gave  a most  tremendous  roar,  and 
made  the  boy  jump.  The  father  and 
mother  started  up  and  laid  hold  of  the 
boy.  He  was  terrified ; he  could  not 
tell  what  he  had  said  and  what  he  had 
done,  and  there  they  lay  trembling  for 
two  or  three  hours  longer.  When  it 
was  daylight  they  looked  out,  and  found 
the  marks  of  the  great  lion’s  paws 
within  ten  or  twelve  inches  of  the 
door!  There  he  had  been  waiting  till 
the  boy,  or  some  one  else,  should  put 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


33 


out  his  head,  and  then  away  would  go 
head  and  body  too  into  the  bargain. 

This  will  show  you  the  dangers  to 
which  people  are  often  exposed  in  that 
country ; but  there  are  dangers  greater 
than  these.  There  is  the  awful  lion — 
the  lion  of  lions,  that  is,  the  devil, 
who  like  a roaring  lion  reigns  there, 
and  who  has  every  one  under  his  con- 
trol there,  keeps  them  all  ignorant 
there,  and  by  that  means  they  are  all 
miserable,  and  die  without  hope.  I 
will  give  you  one  specimen  of  it.  At 
some  distance  from  our  station  there 
was  a little  boy  eight  years  of  age.  He 
lived  with  his  father  and  mother,  and 
they  were  rich;  at  least,  they  had 
sheep,  and  oxen,  and  goats,  and  a gar- 
den. They  resided  in  a beautiful  val- 
ley where  there  were  many  inhabitants. 
When  he  was  eight  years  of  age,  his 


34 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


father  gave  him  an  iron  spear ; before 
that,  he  had  only  a wooden  spear  and 
wooden  arrows.  But  when  his  father 
gave  him  an  iron  spear  and  a little  hat, 
and  made  a man  of  him,  he  was  so  glad ; 
he  was  the  happiest  boy  in  the  valley ; 
at  least  he  thought  so,  for  now  he  had 
received  an  appointment — a commis- 
sion. What  was  that  to  do?  To  go 
to  the  fields,  and  take  care  of  his 
father’s  cattle.  That  is  one  principal 
point  of  education  there. 

The  greatest  chiefs  sons  go  through 
the  same  round  of  duty  as  those  of  the 
plebeian,  or  poor  people.  Away  he 
went  with  his  spear,  and  looked  out 
for  game.  If  he  saw  a partridge,  he 
threw  his  spear  at  it,  and  then,  again, 
at  a hare ; for  there  are  no  game  laws 
in  that  part  of  Africa.  He  thought  he 
should  kill  game  for  ever;  his  heart 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


35 


was  so  full  of  delight  that  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  himself.  Oh, 
he  little  knew  how  soon  sorrow  was  to 
follow  his  joy ; for  in  a few  days  after- 
wards, a band  of  fearful  fierce  savages, 
of  the  Matabele  tribe,  came  into  the 
valley,  burned  the  harvest,  for  the  grain 
was  now  ripe,  burned  the  villages, 
took  the  cattle,  and  killed  all  before 
them.  This  boy  with  his  mother  es- 
caped, we  do  not  know  how,  but  very 
likely  they  might  hide  themselves  in 
some  hole  among  the  bushes  on  the 
side  of  the  hill.  The  next  morning, 
when  it  was  dawn  of  day,  and  the  wind 
arose  and  blew  away  the  clouds  of 
smoke  from  the  valley  along  the  moun- 
tains, the  mother  saw  that  she  was  a 
widow : for  there  was  not  a living  soul 
to  be  seen;  and  the  poor  boy  heard 
that  he  was  fatherless,  his  mother  told 


36  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

him  so ; and  there  were  no  cattle  to  be 
seen  in  that  valley,  where,  the  day  be- 
fore, all  was  joyful  and  all  was  happy — 
heathen  happiness. 

The  mother  and  boy  came  down  to 
their  round  hut,  which  had  escaped 
the  fire,  and  there  she  sat  down,  and 
mourned  and  wept,  and  the  boy  wept 
also.  Poor  boy!  his  mother’s  sorrow 
and  tears  made  him  weep.  She  took 
from  the  hedge  a stake  with  which 
they  dig  up  roots,  and  said  to  the  boy, 
“I  am  poorly,” — yes,  she  was  poorly; 
she  was  ill  of  what  we  call  in  this  coun- 
try intermittent  fever.  She  said,“  Take 
the  stake,  and  try  if  you  cannot  get  a 
few  roots.”  The  boy  went,  but  he 
could  get  no  roots.  She  had  a few 
handfuls  of  brown  grain,  something 
like  cabbage  seed,  and  they  ground  this 
and  some  coarse  grass  together,  and  ate 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


37 


a little  of  it;  but  oh!  it  was  very  bad. 
But  you  cannot  think  what  people 
will  eat  when  they  are  hungry.  I 
should  not  like  to  tell  you  what  I have 
eaten — you  would  think  of  it  when 
you  are  at  dinner — but  hunger  will 
make  a person  eat  anything.  One  day 
I was  out,  and  I was  hungry,  and 
came  to  a Bushman  sitting  by  a fire. 
I sat  down  with  him,  but  he  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  talk  with  me.  There 
was  something  hot  at  the  fire;  it  was 
smoking,  and  a hungry  man  has  a keen 
scent.  It  is  wonderful  how  he  scents 
anything  that  is  good.  I was  so  hungry 
that  I could  have  eaten  anything.  I 
have  eaten  locusts,  and  indeed  they  are 
very  good  ; I would  eat  them  any  time 
after  dinner  for  a dessert.  I have 
often  eaten  the  flesh  of  animals  killed 

with  poison  the  day  before,  and  it  never 
4 


38 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


did  me  any  harm;  and  worse  things 
than  these  I have  eaten.  I said  to  the 
youth — for  he  appeared  young — “You 
have  got  something  very  good  there; 
is  it  not  ready  ?”  He  did  not  seem  in- 
clined to  tell  me.  I put  my  hand  into 
my  pocket  and  said,  “ Have  you  got  a 
bit  of  tobacco?”  “No,”  he  said,  “but 
if  you  like  you  can  give  me  a bit.” 
His  countenance  brightened,  and  b}r- 
and-bye  I got  him  coaxed  to  take  out 
the  morsel  that  was  to  satisfy  us  both. 
And  what  do  you  think  it  was  ? A ser- 
pent, a filthy  serpent,  a cobra  de  capella, 
with  its  head  cut  off,  but  its  flesh  looked 
very  fine,  and  I dare  say  it  was  as 
good  as  any  eel’s.  But  the  association 
of  a deadly  biting  serpent — sending 
that  down  your  throat,  I could  not 
master  it;  and  after  tasting  it,  I left 
him  to  his  precious  meal,  and  went  on. 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


39 


I met  a man  that  evening,  an  acquain- 
tance, and  I asked  him  if  he  had  any- 
thing to  eat.  He  said  he  had  got  a 
jackal,  and  that  is  not  much  better  than 
a dog ; I question  if  it  is  so  good.  How- 
ever, I got  a good  supply  that  night, 
jackal  as  it  was. 

But  I must  return  to  this  little  boy 
and  his  mother.  They  felt  hungry; 
one  day  passed  over,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  eat.  The  poor  mother  saw 
her  hungry  and  lovely  only  boy  with 
tears  in  his  eyes.  Oh  ! she  loved  him 
with  a mother’s  love.  Some  mothers 
in  Africa  are  cruel,  and  throw  away 
their  children ; but  there  are  thousands 
of  mothers  that  can  love,  and  love  with 
a “ mother’s  love,”  too.  At  last  the 
mother  said  to  him,  “My  boy,  go  and 
take  the  narrow  path  that  leads  over 
the  valley,  and  perhaps  you  will  meet 


40 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


with  some  friends.  For  two  days  you 
have  eaten  nothing.  Leave  me,  I am 
going  to  die.”  “ I leave  you  !”  said  the 
boy,  “do  not  talk  so,  it  makes  me 
cry — no,  you  will  soon  be  well,  and 
then  I shall  not  suffer  any  more  hun- 
ger.” The  mother  drew  an  old  tat- 
tered skin  over  her,  and  there  she  lay 
down  on  the  floor.  The  poor  boy  little 
knew  that  these  were  the  last  words 
he  was  ever  to  hear  from  the  lips  of 
his  mother.  She  was  gone ; she  died. 
The  hoy  lay  down  and  slept  that 
night,  and  got  up  in  the  morning,  and 
he  wondered  why  his  mother  slept  so 
long.  The  day  passed  over,  and  he 
wondered  why  his  mother  did  not  get 
up.  He  lay  down  another  night  and 
slept,  and  the  next  morning  he  thought 
his  mother  was  sleeping  very,  very  long. 
At  last  a woman,  passing  from  a dis- 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


41 


tance,  saw  the  boy  sitting ; she  looked 
into  the  hut,  and  saw  something  lying  : 
she  went  in,  and  found  the  corpse. 
She  said  to  the  boy,  “Your  mother  is 
dead — she  is  cold  and  dead ; you  must 
go  away;”  and  away  she  went,  and 
took  no  notice  of  the  boy.  The  boy 
wept  and  wept,  and  he  then  thought 
of  the  words  of  his  mother,  telling 
him  to  take  the  narrow  path. 

He  went  over  the  heights,  and  came 
to  another  valley,  where  he  saw  a man 
cultivating  a field.  He  went  up  to 
him  and  sat  down.  His  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears,  his  bones  were  cov- 
ered with  nothing  but  skin,  and  a pit- 
iable object  he  was.  The  man  had 
pity  on  him  when  he  saw  him ; he  was 
suffering  greatly.  He  asked  him  where 
he  came  from;  he  could  not  speak;  his 
lips  were  parched.  The  man  took  the 


42 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


boy  to  the  water  to  wash  the  dust  and 
dirt  off  him,  and  when  he  saw  the 
water  he  thought  he  was  going  to  drown 
him.  He  said,  “Do  not  drown  me;  I 
will  be  your  servant ; I will  take  care 
of  your  cattle.”  The  man  then  led  him 
to  his  children,  and  gave  him  some 
water  and  milk,  and  some  food,  and 
brought  him  about  till  he  got  strong, 
and  he  was  happy  with  the  boys  and 
girls.  . Some  months  passed  over  in 
that  way  till  the  cannibals  came  to 
that  part  of  the  country.  I suppose 
you  all  know  what  a cannibal  means. 
It  is,  perhaps,  too  hard  a name  for  some 
of  you ; but  if  I tell  you  another  name 
jmu  will  understand  it  better — a man- 
eater.  Were  I to  kill  you,  and  boil  or 
roast  and  eat  you,  I should  be  a canni- 
bal, like  the  cannibals  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  where  the  missionary  Williams 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


48 


went.  Cannibals  came  to  the  valley, 
and  this  man  was  afraid;  he  expected 
he  should  be  eaten.  He  gathered  his 
goods  together,  and  he  took  his  wife 
and  his  children;  he  had  nothing  but 
what  he  could  carry  away.  This  boy 
went  with  him,  and  after  they  had 
travelled  two  days,  he  said  to  the  boy, 
“You  cannot  go  with  me;  I cannot 
take  care  of  you  now;  I have  children, 
and  you  must  go  and  seek  another 
master.”  “ Leave  you !”  said  the  boy, 
“you  have  been  a father  to  me;  how 
can  I leave  you  ?”  But  the  man  insis- 
ted that  he  should  go  no  farther.  The 
boy  sat  down  under  a bush,  and  there 
wept  again,  all  alone  in  the  world.  He 
cried  so  bitterly  that  he  did  not  see 
which  way  his  friends  took. 

They  went  into  the  valley — a party 
of  cannibals  who  were  hiding  in  a hoi- 


44  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

low  watched  their  footsteps  and  fol- 
lowed them,  and  the  next  morning 
nothing  was  left  of  the  kind  man  and 
his  family  but  a few  bones;  they  had 
been  killed  and  eaten!  Well  might 
the  young  orphan  be  terrified ; he 
thought  that  every  bush  that  shook 
was  a cannibal ; he  thought  that  every 
breath  of  wind  was  the  voice  of  can- 
nibals. He  was  so  terrified  that  he  ran 
to  a cave,  the  mountain  of  the  Maloutis, 
and  there  he  lived  a whole  twelvemonth. 
What  did  he  live  on?  On  roots,  or 
anything  he  could  get.  He  heard  the 
lions  roar  at  night,  and  that  prevented 
him  sleeping;  he  heard  hyenas  coming 
near  his  den,  and  they  would  not  let 
him  sleep ; and  his  old  sheepskin  was 
worn  out,  and  at  last  he  thought  that 
he  would  go  away.  He  was  hardly 
able  to  walk,  but  he  came  to  a village, 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


45 


and  there  the  people  took  care  of  him. 
After  some  time  that  place  became  a 
missionary  station — and  ah  ! a mission- 
ary station  is  a lovely  place  in  a hea- 
then land — it  is  a sweet  place ; it  is  a 
rest  for  the  weary;  it  is  a refuge  for 
the  faint;  it  is  an  asylum  for  the  dis- 
tressed ; it  is  a stronghold  for  those 
who  have  been  scattered  and  peeled. 

The  boy  had  grown  into  a young 
man  then,  and  was  living  in  vice  and 
ignorance.  He  heard  the  missionary 
talk  about  something  he  could  not  see. 
He  looked  round  and  round,  but  he 
could  not  see  what  it  was.  He  heard 
that  there  was  a Being  who  took  care 
of  men  and  women,  and  boys  and 
girls;  that  his  eye  was  upon  them 
where  they  were  in  their  wanderings 
alone,  or  in  towns  with  other  people. 
His  mind  was  impressed;  he  listened, 


46 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


and  he  learned  to  know  Jehovah,  the 
only  true  God.  When  he  was  received 
into  the  church,  he  told  his  sufferings 
and  his  experience,  and  much  more 
than  I have  told  you.  He  told  how,  all 
the  way,  God  had  preserved  him;  and 
with  amazement  he  said,  “What  am  I? 
I lived  but  as  it  were  among  the  graves 
of  others;  and  has  God  spared  me  that  I 
should  be  a sinner  upon  earth  ? No,  I 
will  seek  to  know  that  God,  and  to  love 
that  God.”  I believe  that  at  the  pres- 
ent time  the  young  man  is  a native 
teacher  at  one  of  the  missionary  sta- 
tions. 

Ah!  those  blessings  that  attend  the 
gospel  to  the  old  and  young  are  beyond 
all  description.  “Blessings  attend 
where’er  He  reigns.”  Could  you  see 
what  I have  seen  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  times — one  group  of  heathen 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


47 


children  learning  to  read,  another  learn- 
ing to  sing;  could  you  see  the  Bechuana 
girls  going  together,  some  twenty,  thir- 
ty, or  forty  of  them  singing  away  till 
they  are  ready  to  dance  - with  joy; 
could  you  see  with  what  pleasure  they 
sit  down  and  learn  to  sew;  could  you 
see  them,  instead  of  smearing  them- 
selves over  with  dirty  grease,  and  put- 
ting ochre  upon  themselves,  and  hang- 
ing buttons  on  their  ears,  and  over  their 
noses,  and  at  the  end  of  their  hair,  so 
that  you  would  think  they  were  the 
most  uncomfortable  creatures  on  earth, 
but  they  liked  those  things — were  you 
to  see  them,  instead  of  this,  going  to 
bathe,  and  then  see  how  neatly  they 
are  dressed,  and  how  nice  they  look  in 
a place  of  worship,  you  would  be  as- 
tonished. They  feel  the  sweetness  of 
the  change  themselves,  and  they  know 


48 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


that  we  like  to  see  them  pleased  with 
being  clean,  and  being  nicely  dressed. 
I remember  rather  a curious  circum- 
stance that  took  place.  It  was  at  a 
time  when  Mrs.  Moffat  had  very  little 
work  for  the  sewing  school,  that  is,  few 
materials. 

We  shall  not  want  materials  now, 
when  we  go  back  to  Africa  ; the  friends 
have  taken  care  that  she  shall  not  be 
out  of  work ; the  sewing  school  will 
not  run  a-ground  for  some  time,  for 
want  of  it.  But  at  the  time  to  which 
I have  referred,  there  were  very  few 
materials,  and  we  lived  some  hundreds 
of  miles  from  a market  town,  and  the 
people  who  brought  things  often  charged 
too  dear  for  the  natives  to  buy.  Thus 
I have  often  known  Mrs.  Moffat  find 
it  difficult  to  keep  the  children  supplied 
with  work.  You — at  least,  most  of 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


49 


3rou — understand  these  things  better 
than  I do.  She  procured  from  a trav- 
elling friend  a number  of  books  con- 
taining specimens  of  prints  such  as  are 
sent  from  Manchester,  and  other  man- 
ufacturing towns,  four  or  five  inches 
square,  and  containing  all  colours  and 
qualities — here  a gingham,  here  a blue 
print,  and  here  something  else — the 
name  of  which  I do  not  know.  Mrs. 
Moffat  or  Ma-Mary,  as  she  is  called  in 
that  country,*  was  happy  to  get  them, 
and  having  got  them,  the  children  put 
the  squares  together.  That  was  work 
for  the  sewing  school  for  a certain  time, 
especially  for  the  little  girls.  At  the 
end  of  the  half-year,  they  were  wont 

* Parents  in  that  country  are  called  by  the  names 
of  their  first-born  ; Mary  is  our  eldest  daughter,  and 
thus  Mrs.  Moffat  is  Ma-Mary,  or  mother  of  Mary, 
and  I am  Ea-Mary,  or  father  of  Mary. 

5 


50  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

to  receive  a little  present.  It  was  little, 
for  there  was  not  much  to  give;  it  was  a 
reward  to  encourage  them.  You  were 
sure  to  see  them  on  the  Sabbath  day, 
and  at  the  prayer-meetings  also. 

Now  after  these  little  frocks  had 
been  made,  like  Joseph’s  coat  of  many 
colours  and  qualities,  all  like  patch- 
work,  the  next  Sabbath  when  they  ap- 
peared in  the  chapel,  after  these  had 
been  distributed  to  the  girls  that  had 
conducted  themselves  the  best,  they 
came  in  just  like  a small  regiment,  and 
sat  together  in  one  front  seat.  That 
is  a peep  at  the  dawn  of  civilization. 
Do  you  know,  my  dear  children,  what 
I mean  by  dawn?  Dawn  is  the  begin- 
ning of  morning  light,  and  these  things 
are  the  beginning  of  civilization  among 
a people  who  had  no  frocks  or  clothes 
such  as  you  have;  but  having  com- 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


51 


menced  with  the  infant  mind,  it  is  as- 
tonishing to  see  the  ascendency  it  has 
over  the  older  folks.  The  kindness 
that  has  been  shown  by  the  missiona- 
ries and  their  wives,  to  many  a little 
girl  in  the  sewing  school,  and  many  a 
little  boy  in  the  day  school,  has  been 
the  means  of  bringing  their  own  parents 
to  love  the  gospel;  but  I shall  tell  you 
more  of  this  when  God  shall  spare  me 
to  return  to  Africa.  Ma-Mary — for 
now  you  know  her  name — will  also  tell 
you  by  letters,  for  you  may  not  see  us 
again. 

I shall  mention  another  circumstance, 
and  then  conclude,  for  though  you  are 
all  attention,  I must  leave  and  preach 
a sermon  to-night.  We  have  now  in 
that  country  many  missionary  stations, 
and  many  schools.  We  have  infant 
schools,  sewing  schools,  Sabbath  schools, 


52 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


and  in  these  schools  we  have  thousands 
of  children  taught  to  read  who  never 
could  read  before,  and  who  never  were 
clothed  before.  Among  that  people  you 
would  be  astonished  to  see  their  desire 
to  have  books,  and  their  anxiety  to  learn 
to  read.  I remember  seeing  * an  old 
man  and  his  wife, — a grandfather  and 
a grandmother.  I was  very  ill  off  for 
monitors,  and  it  was  my  turn  to  con- 
duct the  Sunday-school.  There  was 
no  room  in  the  house,  or  rather  it  was 
too  warm,  and  they  came  out  on  a 
fine  green,  under  the  shadow  of  green 
willow  trees.  One  circle  was  formed 
after  another,  with  a monitor  of  some 
kind.  Often  there  was  a little  girl — 
for  our  girls  are  the  best  monitors — in 
the  middle  of  the  circle,  with  a board, 
and  some  A B C,  or  spelling  lessons  on 
it.  Away  they  went,  each  circle  going 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


53 


on  with  their  own  music — for  it  was 
music  to  my  ear,  though  not  very  har- 
monious sometimes.  One  circle  had 
uo  monitor,  and  they  called  out  to  me 
that  they  wanted  one.  I told  them 
that  I could  not  find  a monitor;  that 
they  must  help  themselves. 

When  I came  near  the  circle,  I saw 
that  the  old  man  was  devising  a plan. 
His  granddaughter  was  sitting  on  the 
knee  of  his  wife,  her  grandmother;  and 
she  was  the  monitor  of  that  circle. 
The  little  bit  of  a thing,  though  very 
young,  was  able  to  teach ; for  she  knew 
the  ABC  perfectly,  and  she  was  a 
little  philosopher  compared  to  her  grand- 
mother. The  grandmother  had  no  idea 
that  the  old  man  was  devising  a plan 
to  steal  the  monitor  from  her.  He 
said  to  one  of  his  companions,  “Go 
and  give  my  wife  a hit  of  snuff,  and 


54 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


when  she  puts  out  her  hand,  you  lay 
hold  of  the  child  on  the  other  side.” 
The  man  thus  got  possession  of  the  child, 
and  away  he  ran;  it  was  rather  upon 
high  ground,  i.  e.  she  was  sitting  in  a 
low  place,  and  the  woman  ran  after 
him  as  hard  as  she  could,  getting  stones 
to  throw  at  him,  for  running  away 
with  the  child.  I roared  out,  “ That 
will  not  do.”  She  replied,  “ He  has  ta- 
ken my  grandchild  who  was  my  mon- 
itor.” 

I thought,  at  the  same  time,  it  was  a 
lovely  sight — a delightful  sight,  after 
all.  Many,  many  years  I have  seen 
when,  if  there  had  been  a monitor,  there 
was  nobody  to  be  taught  among  that 
people.  The  influence  of  children,  who 
have  received  instruction  in  our  schools, 
is  remarkable.  It  is  astonishing  to 
witness  the  influence  of  little  children 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


55 


in  their  respective  families.  I remem- 
ber, when  at  a school  in  Namaqualand, 
an  amiable  little  sable  girl.  She  had 
got  a part  of  the  Testament,  and  was 
beginning  to  read  nicely.  She  lived  at 
a little  distance,  and  I knew  little 
about  her  parents;  I did  not  know 
that  they  lived  there.  After  she  be- 
gan to  read,  she  did  not  come  so  regu- 
larly to  school  as  before  — she  was 
often  late  in  the  morning.  I found 
fault — I complained  of  it,  with  softness 
and  mild  admonition — I said,  “How 
is  it  that  you  come  to  school  rather 
late  ? Can  you  not  get  up  earlier  ?” 
Poor  thing!  she  did  not  tell  me  the 
reason — she  remained  quiet.  Another 
and  another  day  she  was  late  again, 
and  late  again,  and  I thought  there  was 
something  the  matter.  I asked  where 
she  lived,  and  she  said,  I will  take  you 


56  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

to  where  I live.  On  the  evening  of 
that  day  I followed  the  little  girl,  with 
her  Testament  under  her  arm.  She 
took  me  over  a hill  and  down  a ravine, 
where  there  was  a little  village  of  a few 
houses  together — so  we  call  a village  in 
that  country. 

She  took  me  to  the  house,  and  there 
I saw  a venerable  old  woman,  a woman 
on  whose  brow  were  the  hoary  hairs 
of  age.  When  I asked  her,  Who  is 
this  ? she  said,  “ My  grandmother.”  I 
asked  again,  and  who  is  this  ? “ My 
mother.”  I sat  and  wondered,  and  then 
I asked  the  mother  the  question, — 
“Do  you  know  anything  about  God?” 
On  finding  that  she  perfectly  under- 
stood the  first  principles  of  the  doc- 
trine of  Christ,  and  that  “ God  so  loved 
the  world,  &c.” — and  all  that  I referred 
to,  I immediately  addressed  myself  to 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


57 


the  grandmother,  and  said,  “I  have 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you 
at  chapel — I have  seen  this  one,  the 
mother  occasionally,  but  I never  saw 
you.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
the  love  of  God  ?”  “ Oh  yes,”  she  said, 
“I  know  God.”  I asked,  What  has 
God  done  for  you?  “God,”  she  replied, 
“has  done  great  things  for  me;  he  cre- 
ated me,  he  preserved  me,  and  he  sent 
his  son  Jesus  Christ  to  save  me ;”  and 
she  wept.  I wept  too,  and  had  you, 
my  dear  young  friends,  been  there,  you 
would  have  wept.  I was  utterly  aston- 
ished to  find  the  woman  in  that  posi- 
tion— a woman  that  I had  never  seen 
before — at  least  if  I had  seen  her  it 
must  have  been  by  accident.  I asked, 
“Where  did  you  learn  these  things?” 
She  pointed  to  her  granddaughter,  and 
said,  “'Ever  since  she  has  learned  to 


58 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


read,  she  has  read  to  me  every  morn- 
ing. I often  said  that  I was  afraid 
she  would  be  too  late  for  school,  and 
I told  her  to  tell  jtou.  I don’t  know 
whether  she  has  told  you,  but  she  is 
always  anxious  to  read  to  me.  She 
reads  sometimes  half  the  night,  and  I 
often  have  to  tell  her  to  go  to  bed ; 
and  then  she  gets  up  in  the  morning 
again,  and  she  reads  and  reads,  so  that 
she  forgets  her  very  breakfast,  and  has 
to  take  it  with  her  to  eat  on  the  road.” 
Think  of  this  little  girl.  After  first 
learning  to  read,  the  first  effort  of  her 
infant  mind  was  to  teach  her  grand- 
mother that  there  was  a God,  and  that 
God  loved  the  world.  I felt  as  if  I 
could  sit  the  livelong  day,  a year,  to 
meditate  on  the  condescension  and 
mercy  of  God,  in  blessing  those  simple 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA.  59 

means  to  the  conversion  of  that  vener- 
able grandmother. 

Now  I must  come  to  a close ; but 
before  I do  so,  allow  me,  my  dear 
young  friends,  in  particular,  to  call  to 
your  attention  the  words  which  have 
been  read  in  your  hearing — “Remem- 
ber thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth,  before  the  evil  days  come,  and 
the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou  shalt 
say,  I have  no  pleasure  in  them.”  I 
have  been  young,  and  now  I am  old — 
old  compared  to  many  hundreds  here; 
but  let  me  assure  you  that  nothing 
grieves  me  more,  though  I began  at  an 
early  time  of  my  life  to  serve  God — 
nothing  grieves  me  more  than  that  I 
should  not  have  begun  earlier  to  love 
and  serve  the  Redeemer.  Oh,  how 
delightful  it  is  to  look  back,  after 
you  have  grown  up  to  be  men  and  wo- 


60 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


men,  to  the  early  childhood,  when  you 
said  to  God, — “Thou  art  my  Father,” — 
when  you  began  to  pray. 

0 my  young  friends ! recollect  that 
every  day  adds  hardness  to  the  heart, 
and  every  year  renders  conversion 
more  difficult ; and  the  older  you  grow, 
the  more  doubtful  conversion  is.  You 
know  that  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  put 
off  conversion — to  put  off  seeking  after 
God.  Death-bed  repentance  is  an  aw- 
ful dependence.  We  hear  in  the  Bible 
of  only  one  dying  repentance — the 
thief  on  the  cross.  We  hear  of  many 
being  called  in  youth  and  riper  years, 
and  blessed,  blessed  are  the  children 
that  begin  in  infancy  to  seek  the  Lord. 
Oh  ! how  happy  will  be  their  lot,  and 
how  eminently  useful  will  they  be 
made  in  the  church  of  God,  compared 
to  those  who  have  only  sought  God 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


61 


when  their  years  have  been  many — 
when  the  best  part  of  life  has  been 
spent!  0 my  young  children,  I have 
said  we  may  never  again  see  each  other, 
if  you  do  not  come  out  to  Africa.  I 
may  come  back,  that  is  a possibility.  I 
cannot  tell,  it  is  not  very  likely ; but 
there  may  be  here  a Morrison — there 
may  be  here  a Williams — there  may 
be  here  a Carey — there  may  be  here  a 
Milne — there  may  be  here  a Coke — 
there  may  be  here  a Wesley — there 
may  be  here  a Whitefield — there  may 
be  here  a John  Knox  for  aught  I know, 
for  the  world  requires  reformers  yet. 
Oh  the  field  is  great;  there  is  a call  for 
missionaries  and  for  missionary  effort. 
Let  me  hope  that  many  here,  boys  and 
girls,  will  become  men  and  women — 
missionaries  and  missionaries’  wives,  to 
go  out  perhaps  to  Africa. 

6 


62  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

You  may  come  there  and  cast  your 
eyes  perhaps  on  a mound  of  stones, 
that  covers  the  remains  of  Robert 
Moffat,  who  is  now  addressing  you. 
You  will  remember  his  words — you 
will  remember  his  last  entreaty,  his 
last  wish — read  your  Bibles — read  your 
Bibles.  Some  of  you  know,  I suppose, 
that  it  was  at  the  urgent  request  of 
my  mother,  when  I was  a little  boy, 
that  I read  my  Bible ; nay,  she  made 
me  promise  that  I would  do  something, 
and  she  would  not  tell  me  what  that 
something  was,  yet  I could  not  with- 
stand her  tears  and  prayers.  I said  at 
last,  “Yes,  mother for  I was  going  to 
part  from  her — part  from  a mother  and 
a father.  Oh,  the  very  sound  melts 
the  heart,  my  heart  was  tender — I was 
going  to  leave  her.  She  said,  “ Read 
the  Scriptures — read  the  New  Testa- 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


63 


ment — read  much  in  the  Gospels,  ye 
canna  go  astray  there ; there  is  food 
for  infant  minds,  and  there  is  sublim- 
it}'” — in  her  nervous  language — “ that 
would  raise  you  to  the  throne  of  God.” 
Oh ! I am  happy  that  I made  the 
promise ; I repeat  it,  because  though  I 
did  it  sadly  against  my  will,  yet  read- 
ing the  Bible  was  the  means  of  bring- 
ing me  to  the  feet  of  the  Saviour;  and 
what  she  told  me  when  I was  an  infant 
was  the  means  of  leading  my  mind  to 
the  missionary  field.  I have  gone  out 
and  come  in  again,  after  an  absence  of 
twenty-three  years,  and  have  seen  that 
venerable  mother,  and  a venerable 
father,  and  have  bid  them  “farewell” 
again. 

And  now  I am  going  once  more  to 
Africa.  My  children,  will  you  think 
of  me?  Will  you  remember  me?  Will 


64 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


you  pray  for  me  ? — pray  for  my  fellow 
labourers  ? — pray  for  my  children  ? — 
pray  that  what  I say  and  do  may 
be  blessed?  Then,  when  we  meet 
where  we  shall  all  meet — oh ! we  shall 
meet,  there  is  no  escaping  then;  we 
must,  we  shall  meet  in  another  world — 
how  shall  we  rejoice  together ! But, 
ah  ! if  we  meet  there  before  the  throne 
of  God  to  be  separated,  some  on  the 
right  hand  and  some  on  the  left — some 
to  be  received  into  glory  and  some  to 
sink  down  into  hell,  what  will  the 
Africans  say?  0 my  friends,  to  see 
some  of  you — you  who  have  been  in  a 
Sunday-school — you  who  have  been 
taught  from  your  childhood  to  read  the 
Scriptures,  what  will  they  say  if  they 
see  you  sink  down,  down  to  everlasting 
misery ; and  they,  they,  the  heathens, 
though  murderers,  though  men  of 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


65 


blood,  though  savages,  washed,  sanc- 
tified, justified,  and  received  up  into 
glory  ? 

Ah,  my  friends,  what  is  there  for 
the  never  dying  soul  in  this  world? 
What  is  there  to  satisfy  your  soul  but 
the  love  of  God?  What  is  there  to 
sustain  us  in  all  our  trials,  to  sustain 
us  in  the  hour  of  death,  but  the  faith 
of  the  gospel?  I have  seen  heathens 
die,  and  would  you  like  to  see  them 
die  ? Oh  it  is  awful ! Heathens  die, 
and  though  they  do  not  know  all — 
though  they  do  not  know  that  there  is 
a hell — though  they  do  not  know  that 
there  is  a devil  in  that  hell — though 
they  do  not  know  that  there  is  a God 
to  take  vengeance,  yet  they  tremble  at 
death,  they  tremble  at  the  prospect  of 
being  cut  off  for  ever  from  the  world ! Oh 
it  is  awful  to  see  them  die ! They  die 


66  STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 

without  being  cheered  with  the  pres- 
ence of  Jesus  in  going  into  the  invisi- 
ble state.  Nothing  surprises  the  hea- 
then more  in  our  country — I say  our 
country,  for  Africa  is  the  country  of 
myself  and  Mrs.  M. — than  to  see  a 
Christian  die — to  see  the  tender  deli- 
cate woman  smile  at  death — to  hear 
her  talk  about  the  grave  sweetened 
with  the  presence  of  the  Saviour — to 
hear  her  talk  of  the  flowery  path  to 
bliss,  and  the  company  of  angels  to 
guard  her  to  the  presence  of  her  God — 
to  hear  her  talk  of  happy  communion 
with  invisible  things,  and  that  there 
are  no  terrors  in  the  world  above. 
They  stand  awhile  and  turn  away . 
aghast ; they  are  perfectly  amazed  ; 
they  withdraw  in  astonishment  from 
scenes  like  this.  They  see  that  there 
is  something  in  religion,  and  were  it 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA.  67 

only  to  die  as  a Christian  dies,  it  is 
worth  being  a Christian. 

Now,  my  beloved  friends  and  dear 
children,  permit  me  to  commend  you 
to  God,  and  to  the  word  of  his  grace, 
“ which  is  able  to  build  you  up  and  to 
give  you  an  inheritance  among  them 
who  are  sanctified.”  And,  oh ! to  you 
whose  hearts  are  now  warm  with  the 
love  of  God — to  you  who  have  now 
shining  prospects — and  to  others  who 
have  faint  prospects,  I would  say, 
“ Farewell  for  a short  time.”  “ We 
know  that  when  the  earthly  house  of 
our  tabernacle  shall  be  dissolved,  we 
have  a building  of  God,” — we  have  a 
home,  a heavenly  home.  Our  Jesus 
has  said,  “I  go  to  prepare  a place  for 
you.”  Paul  said,  for  our  encourage- 
ment, that  he  knew  that  “for  him 
was  laid  up  a crown  of  glory,  and  not 


68 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


for  him  only,  but  for  all  those  who 
love  the  appearing  of  Jesus.”  0 my 
friends,  think  of  your  souls — think  of 
God — think  of  eternity — think  of  Jesus. 
A few  more  rolling  suns  at  most  will 
land  us” — oh  that  it  may  land  us  all — 
“ on  fair  Canaan’s  coasts !” 

u There  we  shall  sing  the  song  of  grace, 

And  see  our  glorious  hiding  place.” 

There  we  shall  meet  with  patriarchs 
and  prophets — there  we  shall  meet 
with  missionaries  from  every  quarter 
of  the  world — there  we  shall  meet  with 
immortal  Africans  with  palms  in  their 
hands  and  crowns  on  their  heads — 
there  we  shall  meet  with  Hindoos — 
there  we  shall  meet  with  Greenlanders 
from  the  everlasting  snows,  where  the 
Moravians  have  planted  sweet  Sharon’s 
rose — negroes  from  the  islands  of  the 
West,  and  islanders  from  the  South,  will 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


69 


be  there — Williams,  all  glorious  Wil- 
liams, will  be  there — and,  oh,  what  a 
sight  that  will  be ! What  a transport- 
ing prospect  is  before  us!  “Let  us, 
then,  never  be  weary  in  well  doing; 
for  in  due  season  we  shall  reap  if  we 
faint  not.” 

Farewell,  my  dear  young  friends. — 
Farewell ! 


CHILDREN  FROM  AMONG  THE  HEATHEN  AT 
THE  GATE  OF  HEAVEN. 

Little  travellers  Zionward, 

Each  one  entering  into  rest, 

In  the  kingdom  of  your  Lord, 

In  the  mansions  of  the  Blest : — 

There,  to  welcome,  Jesus  waits 
Gives  the  crowns  his  followers  win — 

Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates  ! 

Let  the  little  travellers  in  ! 


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STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


Who  are  they  whose  little  feet, 

Pacing  life’s  dark  journey  through, 
Now  have  reached  that  heavenly  seat, 
They  had  ever  kept  in  view  ? 

“ I from  Greenland's  frozen  land 
“ I from  India's  sultry  plain 

“ I from  Afric’s  barren  sand 
** 1 from  islands  of  the  main.” 

“ All  our  earthly  journey  past. 

Every  tear  and  pain  gone  by, 

Here  together  met  at  last, 

At  the  portal  of  the  sky. 

Each  the  welcome  ‘ COME’  awaits 
Conquerors  over  death  and  sin.” 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates ! 

Let  the  little  travellers  in ! 


STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA. 


71 


THE  MISSIONARIES’  PARTING  SONG. 

To  the  Air  of  “ Avid  Lang  Syne.” 

Hail ! sweetest  dearest  tie  that  binds 
Our  glowing  hearts  in  one  ; 

Hail ! sweetest  hope  that  tunes  our  minds 
To  harmony  Divine. 

It  is  the  hope — the  blissful  hope— 

Which  Jesus’  grace  has  given — 

The  hope,  when  days  and  years  are  passed, 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven. 

From  Burmah’s  shore — from  Afric’s  strand — 
From  India’s  burning  plain — 

From  Europe — from  Columbia’s  land — 

We  all  shall  meet  again. 

It  is  the  hope,  &c. 

What  though  the  northern  wintry  blast 
Shall  hover  round  our  cot ; 

What  though  beneath  an  eastern  sun 
We  cast  our  distant  lot ; 

Yet  still  we  share  the  blissful  hope,  &c. 

No  lingering  look — no  parting  sigh — 

Our  future  meeting  knows  ; 

There  tears  are  wiped  from  every  eye, 

And  joy  immortal  flows. 


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STORIES  ABOUT  AFRICA, 


Hail  sacred  hope ! Hail  glorious  hope ! 

Which  Jesus’  grace  has  given  : 

The  hope  when  days  and  years  are  past, 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven. 

Chorus. 

We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven  at  last 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven  : 

We  hope,  when  days  and  years  are  past, 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven. 


